


Cold Blooded Souls

by Synonym_Roll



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Heartbreak, M/M, Minor Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Pining, Unrequited Love, poor laurens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synonym_Roll/pseuds/Synonym_Roll
Summary: It had just been another night out, drinks with friends in preparation for a war that was inevitable. Nothing should have changed. God, how John wished nothing had changed.Warmth had once been his friends and their jokes and a roaring fire and a piss-tasting brew at a shoddy pub. Now, it was only the sight of Alexander's smile, the sound of his laughter, the touch of his ink-stained hand.God, he'd never been so cold...





	Cold Blooded Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this Soulmate AU and I’m considering continuing it in both Laurens’ and Hamilton’s POV’s. This is more or less an angsty teaser, but could end up just being an angsty one shot. Constructive criticism is very welcome, please forgive my many mistakes, as I have no Beta!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing

It was a vicious exsistence. The only person who could truly heal him was also the only person who could completely ruin him. An outsider would probably laugh at their situation. Hell, John himself would probably laugh if he weren’t the one living it. But he was, and he wasn’t laughing. He couldn’t. Smiling was difficult these days, as was every other warm emotion. Warm. God, what was warmth?

 

Warmth had once been his friends and their jokes and a roaring fire and a piss-tasting brew at a shoddy pub. It had been sunshine and wild flowers and the ache in his muscles after a long day of work. Now, none of those things held any comfort for him. His only source of warmth was from the sight of Alexander’s smile, the sound of his laughter, the touch of his ink-stained hand.

 

They found out accidentally. They’d been drunk with the others, a typical night as they readied themselves for the war that would inevitably come. Most of the night was a blur, Hercules teaching Lafayette drinking songs and all of them having imbibed too much. It was a normal. Nothing should have changed. God, John wished nothing had changed.

 

He knew that he’d had too much, but that wasn’t unusual. Alexander offered to help him home. He was a good friend, and John tried his best to tell him so, stumbled and slurring over his words stupidly. Thankfully, Alexander laughed at him, guided him out by his arm. Nothing unusual, all the way back to John’s home. But, unfortunately, John had always been a stupidly affectionate drunk.

 

He hadn’t made skin-to-skin contact with Alexander before, but he thought nothing of it when he loudly exclaimed, “You’re such a good friend, Alex!” And threw an arm around his friend, pulling him in for an embrace.

 

Warmth. Blinding, beautiful warmth, radiating out from where his hand made contact with the back of Alexander’s neck. John couldn’t remember having ever felt so content. It was a kid’s story, really, that pure bliss. Everyone knew that the body got colder with the more hurt your heart took and gave, and that people began to hurt others the day they were born, but here… here was that feeling the story books told about.

 

Then Alexander was pulling away, looking confused and almost angry, and he took that warmth with him, the world growing colder as John stood on his stoop. “You should go inside and get to sleep, Laurens,” Alexander said, looking remarkably sober and somber. John felt he had no choice but to nod and turn away.

 

Perhaps it would not have been so bad, to live in a world where Alexander was the sun. They were friends, after all, and there was no need for complications. They could go on with their lives as friends, and any time the world got a little too cold, a brush of skin could mend their troubles. Right? John had hoped, but it seemed all the gods were against him.

 

He’d always had a heart that was easily swayed, and the moment the suggestion -truth, the truth- was in his head, he was gone. His pulse raced when Alexander was near, his face felt flushed, his hands went clammy. He couldn’t think of things to say and felt like he always said too much when he spoke. Thankfully, Alexander didn’t seem troubled by his behaviour. He didn’t react. And if he was a little more distant than before, John elected not to notice. They were friends, after all. Only friends. Their position allowed them that, if nothing else. Still, he was falling hard and fast.

 

Until Eliza Schuyler. In her defense, it wasn’t really her fault. There was nothing between he and Alexander to destroy, she had no idea his heart was breaking with every word she spoke and wrote. She was lovely, inside and out. Alex could love her, was allowed to love her. It still hurt. But, Alex was just a flirt.

  
Then they were engaged, and John had never felt so shattered. His hands felt numb, his chest like it was encased in ice. But he raised his glass, refusing to meet Alexander’s eyes as he toasted his happiness and his marriage and his future.

 

He forced himself to smile. Smiling was so, so hard.

 

He forced himself to laugh. Did it sound as brittle as it felt?

 

God, it hurt so much, he hurt so much.

 

As soon as the night was over, John stumbled home in a daze. There was no warm hand on his elbow to guide him to his door, and the brew in his belly only served to make him nauseous rather than bubbly. He built a fire and piled the blankets high, electing to sleep as close as he could to the blaze, but it did no good. He couldn’t get warm. There was no warmth. He’d never been so cold, so alone. He only wondered, how long would it take until he went completely numb?

 

Did Alexander feel the same way, for having broken John’s heart? Did he care?

 

In time, John learned to live with the ever-increasing cold, his sadness pushed to the back of his mind. If he didn’t give out his touch so freely as before, his friends said nothing. And if his skin seemed a little blue under it’s natural bronze, they said nothing of this either. What was there to be said? He was hardly the first to struggle with heartbreak.


End file.
